


The Liquid Measure of Your Steps

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Courferre Week, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 21:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4538172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre likes moths, Courfeyrac likes Combeferre, and they just keep missing each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Liquid Measure of Your Steps

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to Courferre Week! I've finally completed it and on the last day, too. It's completely un-betaed so all mistakes are mine. I just wanted to get something out for this week. I'm terrible I know. This ended up longer and sappier than I anticipated. It also kind of turned into a love letter to Courfeyrac half way through. He's just a lovely character, isn't he?

Courfeyrac is lounging on the floor of his apartment with his limbs sprawled out all over the place and his head in Jehan’s lap. Jehan cards their fingers through his hair, braiding small pieces of it as they go.

The two had spent the evening drinking cheap beer and alternating between videos of cute animals and spoken word poetry contests. At this point, Courfeyrac’s computer ran out of battery, and the charger was too far away for either of them to bother. Jehan hums a jaunty tune under their breath.

“Jehan, why am I single?” asks Courfeyrac in a complaining tone.

Jehan laughs like spring and wind chimes. “I don’t know, Courf. Why are you single?”

“Because life hates me,” Courferyrac says, sweeping his arm in a grandiose and overdramatic gesture. “I am in my prime. My ass is never gonna look better, and here I am single with no one making out with me.”

“I distinctly remember you saying that relationships are too much work,” Jehan points out.

“I did? I don’t remember. I might’ve been projecting a bit,” Courfeyrac says, squinting up at the ceiling as if it personally offended him.

“I think that’s enough for tonight. You have classes tomorrow, or did you forget about those as well?”

Jehan plucks the near empty beer can out of Courfeyrac’s hands. They move to get up, pulling Courfeyrac along with them. Some way or another, Jehan—despite their smaller stature—manages to herd Courfeyrac into his bed.

Courfeyrac rolls over onto his stomach and looks up at Jehan from underneath his flopping hair. He mumbles into the crook of his arm, “Is it weird that I just feel kinda lonely sometimes? I have all of you guys, and I love everyone. I do but I just… I don’t know. It’s weird and stuff.”

Jehan presses a kiss into the top of his curls. “You’ll be okay, Courfeyrac. Now go to sleep.”

Courfeyrac drifts off before Jehan even closes the door behind them.

-

The next day, Courfeyrac fights his way through his classes but not without a slight headache and loads of caffeine. He’s back in his apartment by the afternoon, contemplating a nap and ignoring his Calculus homework.

He’s dozing off on top of his textbook, eyes half closed, with his wall clock ticking down at him like Courfeyrac had murdered one of his clock buddies (which in his defense only happened once and it was a valiant sacrifice in the battle with the stray cat outside the freshmen dorms). Courfeyrac has this unsettled feeling like he’s forgotten something. He stares down the accusing clock hands, willing it to jog his memory.

“Shit,” Courfeyrac curses, jumping out of his seat and all but running out of his room.

It’s Saturday, which means he’s supposed to meet with Enjolras for coffee at two. It’s already two plus the fifteen minute walk to the Musain. Enjolras is going to kill him.

Courfeyrac grabs his wallet off the kitchen counter, shoves his shoes on with no regard for the laces, and is out the door as fast as possible. He almost runs over several people on his way there, but he makes it to the Café Musain in a record time of twelve minutes.

He’s only panting a little by the time he makes it to the front counter. He orders a coffee and scans the room. Courfeyrac is confused, perplexed, befuddled, and downright dumbfounded. Enjolras is not one to be late, and yet his friend is nowhere in the café.

The barista hands Courfeyrac his drink and change with a polite smile that he returns in full. He checks his phone as he walks to a table near the wall, the one they always sit at. For a single panicked second, Courfeyrac wonders if Enjolras had already arrived and left out of frustration, but there aren’t any annoyed messages about the importance of punctuality on his phone.

Besides that’s not really Enjolras’ style, much too passive aggressive. Knowing Enjolras, he would’ve sat there for as long as it would’ve taken just so he could deliver a speech full of righteous indignation to scold Courfeyrac for his tardiness.

Courfeyrac sits down with an excited grin. This means that for the first time in their two years of best friendship, Enjolras is later than Courfeyrac is. He struggles to contain his gleeful laughter. He is never going to stop holding this over Enjolras’ head. Courfeyrac pulls up their chat to send his friend a text pretending that he’d been waiting there the whole time when Enjolras comes bustling through the door a hurricane of blonde curls and uni papers.

“Ah, Enjolras, you are late!” Courfeyrac declares, biting back his smile and failing.

Enjolras drops into the chair across from him, trying to fit all his papers into his bag at once. “I know, I know, I’m really sorry, but there was a mock debate in class and I got a little wrapped up in it."

“Only a little, huh?” Courfeyrac asks, raising an eyebrow.

Enjolras doesn’t do things by halves, so Courfeyrac is willing to bet money that Enjolras was more than just a little wrapped up in it.

“Yeah,” Enjolras nods, stealing Courfeyrac’s coffee and making a face at the oversweet taste. “There’s someone who made some really interesting points.”

“Uh huh,” Courfeyrac says as he takes back his drink.

He narrows his eyes at Enjolras, studying him. He hasn’t stopped tapping on the table since he sat down, and his blue eyes are darting all over the place without seeing anything. This is what Enjolras looks like when he’s on his way to an idea that usually ends in big trouble but also a lot of excitement.

“Okay, what is it?” Courfeyrac asks, giving up on figuring it out.

“What’s what?” Enjolras blinks at him like he’s just noticed that Courfeyrac is there as well, which with the state he’s in might not be too big of a stretch.

“What’s the plan? This is you when you’ve got an idea in that pretty blonde head of yours. You’ve got me all curious, so you’ve got to tell me what it is.”

Courfeyrac leans forward, expecting Enjolras to start spouting off now that he’s been given an opening. That’s how Enjolras works. He does his best thinking when he has someone to talk it through with him and bounce ideas off of, but Courfeyrac’s words don’t have the desired effect.

Enjolras tilts his head to the side and stares at him. “A plan?”

Courfeyrac can see the exact moment the idea enters Enjolras’ mind because his whole face lights up with it, and he’s out of his seat before Courfeyrac can utter another word.

“I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to rain check,” Enjolras explains, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.

“What are you on about? And that’s my coffee!” Courfeyrac yells.

“I have an idea!” Enjolras yells back while running out the door with his stolen coffee.

Courfeyrac sags into his chair, letting his head fall back with a tired smile. Enjolras doesn’t even like Courfeyrac’s coffee order, but he can’t bring himself to be annoyed because sooner or later Enjolras will include him in his idea, and it will be brilliant even if it does end with them in a jail cell.

-

Courfeyrac’s revelation with Jehan might not have been as out of the blue as he played if off to be.

Jehan had come up to him a couple days earlier with a knowing smile and a plethora of teasing jokes. Courfeyrac had laughed it off as one drink too many at the time, and Jehan didn’t look all that convinced, but at least they stopped asking about it. Jehan’s good like that.

Courfeyrac works part time at a natural science museum in Paris, usually he works evenings because it fits better with his class schedule. He works in the butterfly and moth exhibit. It’s rather stuffy with all the muted walls and dead bugs nailed to corkboards, so he prefers to stay in the live habitat. For the past month, there’s been this ridiculously attractive college student who comes by once a week at least.

Courfeyrac is by no means shy. More often than not, his problem is coming on too strong, but every single time the man comes he seems so absorbed in his own thoughts that Courfeyrac feels bad interrupting.

He’s tall and wears dark-rimmed glasses with sweater vests and button up shirts. He looks like the type of person with very important and uninterruptable thoughts, so Courfeyrac admires from afar behind the safety and comfort of his help desk.

In Courfeyrac’s defense, it is perfectly healthy. His job is boring because no one asks the help desk at a museum anything important, so he thinks he’s allowed to admire handsome strangers who wander in with an interest in insects. He’s currently trying very hard not to peer at the stranger through the vegetation by staring down at a piece of paper and pretending to work.

Someone coughs politely. “Excuse me.”

Courfeyrac startles and nearly drops his pen. When he looks up, he sees the stranger standing not five feet away with an endearingly concerned expression in the faintest crinkle between his eyebrows.

“Yes, hello, how may I help you?” Courfeyrac asks, trying not to sound over eager.

“I was wondering if there are any _Actias Lunas_ in this exhibit.”

The man is looking directly at Courfeyrac, and he has the nicest eyes. Dark and intelligent, hidden behind the most un-ironically hipster glasses.

“Actia-what? I have no idea what that is,” Courfeyrac admits.

“Oh,” the man says, and he sounds so disappointed. “Never mind then. Sorry to bother you.”

“No, not at all.” Courferyac reassures as he scrambles for a way to make this conversation last longer. “Um, I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help. I mean I’m only here part time. You probably know more about the insects than I do.”

The stranger looks like he doesn’t know what to do with Courfeyrac’s rather embarrassing word vomit, like he doesn’t know what to make of this over-excitable short guy who can’t shut up.

“Well, now I’m just rambling, and I kinda assumed you would know more because you’re here a lot, and it’d be a little weird if you were here a lot and didn’t know what you were talking about.” Courfeyrac takes a deep breath to calm down. “What I’m trying to say is I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help.”

“It’s alright,” the man says with the tiniest of smiles dancing across his face that soon splits into a full on grin, the kind that changes the whole shape of people’s faces.

And Courfeyrac is so screwed because if he thought this stranger looked handsome while in deep and thoughtful contemplation, then it’s nothing compared to him smiling and joyful. He’s hit by the sudden thought of what it would be like to kiss that smile, of what he would look like laughing, and if his laugh could possibly be anymore brilliant and luminous than his grin.

Courfeyrac realizes that they’ve been silently staring at each other for a while, but not before the stranger does and blushes hard enough to see even with his dark skin.

“Have a nice day.” The man waves and tries for another smile although it’s more stilted now.

“Yeah, you too,” Courfeyrac says to himself as the other man is almost out of the exhibit already, walking away at a brisk pace.

Courfeyrac resists the urge to bang his head against the table. Great, he’s scared off the man with one conversation, and now he will never return not even to see his beloved butterflies. Courfeyrac runs a frustrated hand through his hair and sighs. He’s usually good at this, but there’s something about this stranger that just makes Courfeyrac’s brain turn to mush and his tongue tie itself in knots.

It’s terrible. Especially, the way his heart is still beating uncontrollably in his chest.

He allows himself to mope for the rest of his shift until Marius comes to lock up the exhibit. Marius is a weird and shy fellow, and Courfeyrac hasn’t spoken to him much beyond the perfunctory greeting when they switch off. He likes to think of them as good coworker friends though.

“Hey, Marius, do you know what an Activia Luna is?”

Marius jumps like he’s surprised that Courfeyrac’s talking to him, which is just plain unacceptable. Courfeyrac resolves to try harder to befriend this painfully awkward man.

“I’m sorry a what?” Marius asks after he peered left and right for anyone else Courfeyrac could be talking about with the name Marius.

“An Activia Luna? I don’t know if I’m remembering the name correctly, but someone was asking about it today.”

“Oh, do you mean _Actias Luna_? That’s the Latin name for a species of moths,” Marius says. He seems relieved to know the answer.

“Of course, it’s a moth.” Courfeyrac mentally berates himself. He works in an exhibit of moths. “Do we have any here?”

“Yeah, they’re in the display cases in Hall B.”

“Thanks, Marius!” Courfeyrac cheers, clapping him on the back.

He’s excited to have something to talk to Attractive Moth Man—as he has been dubbed in Courfeyrac’s head—about, and he’s determined not to mess it up this time.

“You’re welcome?” Marius says, wringing his hands together. “Um, sorry to ask, but how do you know my name?”

Courfeyrac blinks at Marius, trying to figure out whether the other man was kidding. Catching the sincere confusion in Marius’ expression, Courfeyrac bursts out laughing.

“You do realize you’re wearing a name tag, right?” Courfeyrac asks once he’s stopped laughing.

Marius looks down at the offending tag on his shirt and quickly ducks behind the help desk to hide his embarrassment. Courfeyrac chuckles, his mood lifted once again.

“See you tomorrow, Marius.”

Courfeyrac laughs even harder when he hears a squeak come from the desk that sounds a good deal amount like ‘Goodbye.’

-

Before Courfeyrac even gets another chance to talk to Attractive Moth Man, he is forced to face a startling realization. Someone is trying to steal Enjolras from him.

A couple of their friends are meeting up at the Corinthe. Most of their ragtag group started hanging out last year with the more recent additions of Grantaire, Eponine, and Bahorel. Between the Café Musain and the Corinthe, their group of friends has their locations outside of their apartments and school sorted.

Not a lot of them are actually present that day, and it’s no surprise that Enjolras has elected out of joining them. The Corinthe is a bar, and Enjolras always considers himself to be far too busy. The difference today is that Enjolras has already cancelled on them three times that week in favor of his new friend from class that he met in the mock debate. Some guy named Combeferre.

This Combeferre is stealing Courfeyrac’s best friend, and he’s not happy about it. He says about as much to Feuilly.

Feuilly rolls his eyes. “No one is stealing your best friend, Courfeyrac.”

“This dude is trying to.”

“You’re being overdramatic. Combeferre’s actually really nice. I’ve met him.”

“It’s all an act,” Courfeyrac says, not pouting at all.

“I’ll leave you to your wallowing then,” Feuilly says, patting Courfeyrac’s head as he leaves to join the rest of their friends at the bar.

At this time Jehan returns from the bathroom and slides into the booth. The concerned look on Jehan’s face is enough to tell Courfeyrac that they overheard his conversation with Feuilly. “Is this really what’s bothering you?”

 

“Yes, Enjolras is being taken away from me, and I am rightfully indignant about it,” Courfeyrac says, but Jehan doesn’t look convinced.

“If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t met Combeferre yet.”

“Yeah, you’re on my side, Jehan. In the ensuing custody battle, I get to keep you.”

Courfeyrac knows he’s being ridiculous, and he is a little bothered by it but not nearly as much as he’s acting like it is. He knows Enjolras is probably caught up in some sort of idea, and he’ll let Courfeyrac in on it eventually, but in the meantime, he’s allowed to overreact.

“I get that we had some sort of unspoken agreement that we aren’t going to talk about it, but I’m breaking that, and I’m talking about it,” Jehan says, lifting their chin up like they’re issuing a challenge.

“I have no idea what you’re going on about. All that Keats must be going to your head.”

“Actually, it’s Neruda this week. Please just hear me out,” Jehan pleads, and Courferyac doesn’t know how to say no to his friends when they plead.

They all do it in different ways. Enjolras pinches the bridge of his nose and acts otherwise exasperated. Bahorel pouts in a rather ridiculous manner and absentmindedly cracks random joints in his body. Joly smiles although it’s softer than it would be in the middle of one of his cheesy jokes and taps your foot with his cane.

And Jehan picks at the loose threads on their clothes and stares straight into your soul with every line of their body saying, “Please.”

“Fine, speak your piece, Prouvaire,” Courfeyrac grumbles.

Jehan’s beaming when they say, “Enjolras is not replacing you, and I think you know that. You just need to get your mind off of it. Let me set you up on a date.”

“I must’ve seemed real pathetic when I was drunk and tired, but you don’t have to do this.”

“I know. I want to do something nice for you. You always try so hard to take care of everyone else.” Jehan smiles slow and sweet like molasses and honey.  
Courfeyrac is only a little touched by this statement. Honestly, only a little. There are other reasons for why he’s smiling so wide, and his chest feels all warm and tingly.

“Alright, work your magic and set me up on this blind date, Oh Great Jehan,” Courfeyrac relents, laughing at Jehan’s responding jig of joy.

“There’s this guy in my philosophy class, and he can be a little serious, but he’s really great,” Jehan says when they’re sitting still again.

Courfeyrac raises his eyebrows. “Philosophy? I’m not sure how much I would have in common with a philosophy student.”  
This is more or less a true statement. The vast majority of the philosophy students Courfeyrac has met are pretentious assholes who don’t wash their hair enough and think that the end all be all of great literature in this world are written by white men. He doesn’t have time for that bullshit. Besides Courfeyrac is very much an “in the moment” and “take action” kind of guy. He doesn’t have much use for philosophy.

“That’s the beautiful part about humans, isn’t it? Sometimes the most unexpected people fit together and work.”

Courfeyrac finds himself nodding along to Jehan’s words. He isn’t as poetic and eloquent about it, but he understands it in some bone deep part of himself. Courfeyrac loves people. People are unpredictable and changeable, and there’s something both wonderful and terrifying about how life never stays the same.

He wonders how much of that tiny spike of annoyance he feels every time someone brings up Combeferre is because of his own inability to reconcile with change. So much of his life has changed in the past two years since moving to France from Mexico. He’s always wanted to go abroad for college, but God, sometimes he feels so guilty about leaving his country behind. On his worse days, he worries that it’s betrayal.

“Yeah, I get what you’re saying.” If this guy has Jehan’s approval, then he can’t be that bad. Even if it doesn’t work out, Courfeyrac will gain a new friend at least. He pushes aside his own turmoil and tries for a smile. “So do your best and land me this date, Jehan.”

“Great,” Jehan says, genuinely delighted. “I’ll text you the details. You’ll like him I promise.”

-

The next day, Attractive Moth Man finally returns to the museum. This time Courfeyrac barely waits for him to walk into the habitat when he’s calling out to him. There aren’t that many people visiting today, so it doesn’t take long for the man to realize Courfeyrac’s talking to him.

He walks over with a small smile. “Hello.”

“Hey,” Courfeyrac says breathless, and he can’t hold back his smile. There’s something about him that just makes Courfeyrac fill up with an uncontainable happiness. “You were looking for the _Actias Luna_ last time, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was,” the man answers, and he sounds surprised that Courfeyrac remembered.

“Well, I asked someone, and we have them. They’re in the display in Hall B,” Courfeyrac explains, pointing in the direction Marius had told him.

“Oh, thank you,” he says, and Courfeyrac has never seen someone so excited about bugs. It’s kind of stupidly endearing.

“You’re welcome. Glad to help.”

Then they’re in the weird stand off again where they’re staring at each other, but also trying their hardest to look anywhere else. Courfeyrac feels like lightning and electricity, like his skin is too thin to hold him in. He wonders if the other man feels the same thing, or if he’s just slowly losing his mind here.

Courfeyrac breaks the silence, anything to stop feeling so uncertain. “You come here a lot, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do. This is the best habitat in Paris.” The man waves his hand around gesturing at the bugs and the trees and the far off greenhouse ceiling.

There’s something in the way that he looks at the whole thing that makes it seem far more special than Courfeyrac has ever considered it to be. He looks at the habitat like it might be magic.

“I didn’t know that,” Courfeyrac says in complete honesty. He’s still caught up on the way this man lights up with his passion.

Attractive Moth Man chuckles with a self-conscious shrug. “Well, now you do. It was nice talking to you, again.”

“You, too. It was nice talking to you, too.”

Courfeyrac watches as Attractive Moth Man walks away in the direction of the _Actias Luna_ , and the sensation of being too much and not enough is back with a vengeance. He drops his head in his hands and whispers with feeling, “Fuck.”

Biting his fingernails, he looks up like he can’t help himself. Courfeyrac can see the top of his head over the branches and thinks desperately that he doesn’t even know his name yet.

-

Jehan, being the romantic that he is, insisted that Courfeyrac not be told the name of this philosophy student that he’s meeting. He was only told the time, the place, and the fact that they are to be seated at the table in the far left corner.

Courfeyrac never makes it to the table in the corner at the Musain at 12:30 because at 11:59, he gets a frantic call from his manager. Marius is an hour late with no explanation. This conversation is filled with apologies from his manager and ends with Courfeyrac on his way to the museum on his day off.

He sends a quick text to Jehan and is on the next bus to his work. He curses under his breath but still smiles when he reads Jehan’s response full of crying emoticons and quotes from Neruda.

Courfeyrac spends some of his shift mentally complaining about Marius. To make things worse, Attractive Moth Man doesn’t even make an appearance.

Half an hour later, the man in question finally shows up. He has his backpack on and a duffel bag in one hand, looking frazzled and kind of like he’d just been crying.

All uncharitable thoughts Courfeyrac might’ve conjured up about Marius vanishes as he asks, “Oh my God, are you okay?”

Marius ignores his question and instead tries to push past Courfeyrac to the desk. “I’m sorry. It completely slipped my mind that I had to work today. I’m so sorry. I know today was your day off.”

Courfeyrac waves his hand in front of Marius’ face to get him to look at him. The man seems like he’s on the verge of a panic attack. “Hey, hey, it’s fine. It’s okay. Now, what the hell happened to you?”

“My grandfather kicked me out after an argument. It was a long time coming, but I’m still kind of shaken up, and I don’t have anywhere to go, and I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Marius says in one breath.

Courfeyrac’s eyes widen, and he has the sudden urge to pull Marius into a hug. He settles for resting his hands on Marius’ shoulders and trying to get the poor boy to calm down. Courfeyrac alternates between rattling off inane things and getting Marius to breathe with him. It works after a while, so Courfeyrac lets him go.

“Feel better now?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Marius says, wiping his eyes.

Looking at Marius whose breathing still sounds a little ragged, Courfeyrac is struck with an idea. It’s a crazy idea but also perfect. There’s a part of him that can’t stand to see people sad, and that’s the part Courfeyrac will blame for what he says next.

“Come live with me.”

“What?” Marius asks. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“No, you did. Come live with me. I have an extra room and stuff. It won’t be a bother.” Courfeyrac says, grinning.

“I really couldn’t,” Marius stammers like he can’t believe Courfeyrac is real. “You don’t know me, and I don’t even know your name.”

“Call me Courfeyrac, and what better way to get to know each other than to be roomies?” Courfeyrac puts up both his hands in the thumbs up gesture.

Marius shakes his head in disbelief. “But why?”

Courfeyrac shrugs. He doesn’t even know why he gets like this sometimes. “I like helping people.”

Marius watches him, studies him. He must see something trustworthy because he sighs and says, “If you’re sure it won’t be a bother.”

“I’m sure.” Courfeyrac claps his hands together. “You’ll move in today.”

And Courfeyrac can’t bring himself to blame the part of him that extended this invitation. Not when Marius looks at him with such relief and hope.

-

On Saturday, Jehan finally meets Combeferre, and afterwards they send Courfeyrac a message of the laughing emoticon and the word ‘irony’ in all caps.

**To Jehan:**

What does that mean?

**From Jehan:**

you’ll get it later!

**From Jehan:**

combeferre is nice you’ll like him

**From Jehan:**

he’s in philosophy too

**To Jehan:**

NO DO NOT DEFECT TO THE ENEMY SIDE

The only response he gets after that is more emoticons.

-

It takes Enjolras over a week, but he does tell Courfeyrac what the hell he's planning eventually.

They're meeting for coffee at the Musain to make up for the two times that Enjolras cancelled on him. The other man is tapping his fingers and jiggling his leg and forgetting he even ordered a drink, and Courfeyrac has had enough.

"Okay, I can tell you're just dying to tell me something, no doubt that something you've been hiding from me all week. So spill."

Enjolras furrows his brow. "I wasn't hiding it from you on purpose. I'm sorry if it seemed that way."

Courfeyrac waves off his worries with a grin. He won’t lie. It feels nice to be validated like this, but despite all his complaints, he understands Enjolras and his process. "You're forgiven as long as you tell me what it is."

Courfeyrac can see the way the idea whatever it is lights up Enjolras' entire being. He sits straighter, and there's an intensity in his eyes.

"I want to start a club."

Courfeyrac laughs and gets caught up in Enjolras' excitement like he has so many times before. "About?"

"Social justice," Enjolras says, and it would sound ridiculous coming from anyone else but Enjolras somehow makes it sound believable and sincere. "Combeferre, actually gave me the idea, and we've been in contact with the administration, and this could be a real thing. All that's left is some paperwork and recruiting more people."

"That actually sounds awesome," Courfeyrac says after some thought. It sounds amazing, being in a room with people who think the same as you, being able to achieve something. "Have you told the rest of our friends? They'd all love to join."

Enjolras shakes his head. "No, I haven't. I wanted to tell you first."

"Why?" Courfeyrac asks, stunned and flattered.

"Because I trust you," Enjolras says as if it's that obvious, as if it’s that simple. To Enjolras who is as straightforward as they come, it probably is.

"Alright, I'm convinced. What do you need me to do?”

“You’re good with people in a way that Combeferre and I aren’t. We want you to help us find more people to join. If we want this to succeed the way we’re hoping, we’ll need a lot.”

“It shouldn’t be that hard. Do you want me to start as soon as possible?” Courfeyrac was already going through a mental list of acquaintances for who would be interested.

“No,” Enjolras shakes his head. “I think the three of us should meet up first to talk about it.”

“Just say when, and I’ll be there,” Courfeyrac promises, leaning forward with an eager grin.

People often find it odd that Courfeyrac and Enjolras are such close friends. They’ve both received comments along that vein before. Separately, they’re very different people, but when you put them together, you discover that they have a shared passion and single-mindedness. If anyone could make this work, it would be them.

-

In the end, Courfeyrac has to back out on his promise only to wind up back at the museum.

Marius phones him that morning about meeting a girl at the botany gardens in Luxembourg and somehow that led to the conclusion that Courfeyrac had to cover his shift again. Or maybe it’s that they’re trading shifts. It’s hard to keep up with Marius when he’s excited and babbling because he’ll switch languages in the middle.

He can’t even bring himself to be mad about it because that was the happiest he’d heard Marius since he’d been kicked out. He taps out a short message explaining the situation to Enjolras, and that was that.

-

Most days, their small help desk in the butterfly and moth habitat doesn’t need more than one worker. Unsurprisingly, not a lot of people spend loads of time in the exhibit, but then the museum decides to have a kids’ day with a discount or something, and the place is packed.

Both Courfeyrac and Marius are called in, and they share panicked looks over the sea of sticky-fingered children and frazzled adults.

Courfeyrac tries for a brave face. “This shouldn’t be too hard, right?”

“I think I just saw a kid eat a leaf,” Marius says with a horrified expression.

“We’ll survive,” Courfeyrac says, and he doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince more.

Marius heads towards the display part of the exhibit, and he can be heard muttering under his breath, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

Courfeyrac puts on his best smile and greets the woman standing there with a baby on her hip. This is going to be a long day.

The two of them quickly work out a system. Marius fields all the questions about the bugs, and Courfeyrac deals with all the people problems. By around three, the crowds start to thin out.

It’s also around this time that the Attractive Moth Man returns. He seems taken aback at first by the sight of so many people, but he ignores it all and makes a beeline for a more secluded spot. There’s a noticeable tension in between his shoulder blades as he walks like he’s upset. For some reason, the thought makes Courfeyrac’s chest ache.

Courfeyrac bites his nails and deliberates his options. Having decided, he runs over to where Marius is and taps him on the shoulder.

“Hey, Marius, remember that time I covered a shift for you while you were off galvanizing with Cosette?”

“Yes,” Marius says confused. “I said that I would take over one of your shifts sometime.”

“Well, I’m calling in that favor now. I’m taking a break, so the exhibit is all yours,” Courfeyrac says, and he’s off before Marius has time to agree or disagree.

The man had gone to a far corner of the exhibit where there’s a secluded little gazebo that no one sits in because the construction was never finished. The wooden skeleton of a roof has been taken over by ivy leaves. He’s sitting there all alone and staring at a far wall.

Courfeyrac is almost at where the man is when he finally realizes that he has no idea what he’s doing. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say, or if he would even be welcome. He just knows that he couldn’t stand the thought of not doing something to help.

“Hey, are you alright?” Courfeyrac tries to look as unassuming as possible. “I saw you come over here, and you looked upset.”

“Oh, I’m fine.” The man jumps at Courfeyrac’s voice, not expecting anyone to approach him. He doesn’t look scared at least, but he also doesn’t look fine either.

“I know we only talked like twice, but if you want, I’m a good listener.” Courfeyrac walks over, and every step feels like something valuable and precious that he’s being allowed.

“Thank you,” the man says, and he seems to be considering the idea. After a moment, he says, “You can sit if you’d like. I won’t make for very great company right now.”

Courfeyrac takes a seat on the bench next to him. “I’m sorry. I never got your name.”

“Suraj, and your name is Mateo.” The man cracks a smile when he catches the momentary confusion on Courfeyrac’s face. “Your name tag.”

“Right.” Courfeyrac laughs. He can’t believe he made the same mistake as Marius, and at this point, he’s too embarrassed to bother asking Suraj to switch to his last name.

“I’m fine though. Really,” Suraj insists when he sees Courfeyrac’s skepticism. “I’m just a little stressed from school and such. Going to university so far away from home is harder than I thought it would be.”

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac says, thinking about how lonely he was his first few months in Paris. “What are you studying?”

“Pre-med.” Suraj heaves a great sigh. “It can get overwhelming.”

Courfeyrac whistles. “I’ve got a friend in pre-med, and he can get pretty intense. The smallest sneeze and he’ll have you bundled up in blankets and quarantined.”

Suraj smiles again, and it feels even looser than it was last time. Courfeyrac is rather proud.

“Are you talking about Joly by any chance?”

“You know him?” Courfeyrac asks, wondering if he needs to yell at Joly for never introducing them.

“Not well, but we had a class together last year. It was memorable to say the least.”

“That’s Joly for you.”

They sit in a comfortable silence, and Courfeyrac really doesn’t want to move anytime soon unless it’s to move closer to Suraj. A moth flutters by in front of their faces, and Courfeyrac watches Suraj watch it, watches those intelligent, dark eyes track its movement.

“Most moths are nocturnal, but there are some that are diurnal or crepuscular. The live habitat has almost all of those species,” Suraj explains, pointing at the moth.

Courfeyrac never really noticed the moths before. He doesn’t get the point of them. They’re kind of just uglier butterflies that always run into lights at night, but Suraj loves them, and that’s enough to give Courfeyrac a whole new opinion.

“What’s crepuscular mean?”

“It means active in dawn or twilight.”

And Courfeyrac wants to laugh because that suddenly makes a lot more sense. Courfeyrac works in the evening, and that’s when Combeferre usually comes because he wants to see the moths.

“So what brings you here today in the not dawn or twilight?”

“Watching them calms me. I especially like moths, but this whole place is very peaceful. It helps me think.” Suraj looks up at the skeleton ceiling where a cluster of butterflies have gathered. He shakes his head in a self-deprecating manner. “That probably sounds silly.”

“Not at all,” Courfeyrac says to reassure him. He still doesn’t have a game plan or anything, but he starts doing what he does best. Talking. “I mean I watch people, and that has infinite possibilities to be creepier.”

To his credit, Suraj doesn’t even seem alarmed just curious. “What do you mean?”

“Like.” Courfeyrac scans their immediate vicinity for an example. He points to a woman who is herding a group of no less than six children. “Look at her. What do you think her story is?”

Suraj looks at her with a thoughtful expression, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pursed. He has this way of looking at people that’s like a magnifying glass or maybe a telescope. Something that makes it feel like he sees right through you. “She’s maybe a daycare teacher of some sort. She doesn’t look to be that experienced with children though.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“I’m wrong?”

“Yeah, so wrong,” Courfeyrac scoffs, putting on a show now. “She’s obviously a secret agent from a rival museum trying to steal all our best moths.”

“And the children?” Suraj has his lips pressed together like he’s trying hard not to laugh and Courfeyrac very much so wants to see him laugh.

“Tiny agents, of course.”

This earns Courfeyrac a laugh, and Suraj has such a beautiful laugh. It’s deep and rich and turns his features youthful without the usual serious and somber contemplation. Courfeyrac wants to know what it tastes like.

“Okay, try again. Take Marius as an example.” Courfeyrac points over to where Marius is slumped over the help desk, looking forlornly into the distance.

Suraj shrugs, but he’s still grinning. “I don’t know.”

“He is fantasizing about a girl from the Luxembourg botany gardens, and no doubt regretting his awkward conversation starter about his allergies.”

“Be serious,” Suraj says, bumping their shoulders together.

“I am.” Courfeyrac nods, eyes wide. “I know for a fact that’s what Marius is thinking about.”

They fall back into a silence during which Courfeyrac can hear his heartbeat in his ears like parade drums, and he swears Suraj has to feel something of this intensity as well otherwise he really will go insane. Courfeyrac falls in and out of love so easily, but he has never felt like this before, and he’s at a loss for what to do.

“Thank you,” says Suraj, “for listening to me.”

“You’re welcome, and feel free to take all your study breaks here even when the moths aren’t out to play yet.” Courfeyrac has been greatly cheered by both his words and the thought of seeing Suraj more. Maybe extended exposure will stop him from feeling like all his nerve ends are on fire.

“I might stop coming here so often actually,” Suraj says, and Courfeyrac swears his heart stops beating.

“What do you mean?” Courfeyrac asks, and he’s surprised how steady his voice is.

“I’m starting a project with a friend of mine, and it’ll no doubt be time consuming. I probably won’t have time to visit so much.” Suraj smiles at a butterfly landing on his knee.

“Are you excited about the project?” Courfeyrac asks. He should stop asking so many questions, or maybe he needs to keep asking but stop asking all the wrong questions.

“Yeah,” Suraj nods. “I think it could help a lot of people. I’m looking forward to it.”

Courfeyrac’s nerves aren’t on fire anymore, and he almost wishes for that stupid sensation back because anything is better than this. He has ice crawling through his veins now and freezing him in place. His mouth opens and closes uselessly, struggling to find any words that are strong enough to bear the weight of all that he’s feeling.

Because of course. Of course, it’s all been in his head. Courfeyrac has built all this expectation, all this hope, on top of someone who doesn’t know about it, doesn’t know him. He doesn’t know Suraj. The other man has an entire life that Courfeyrac isn’t privy to. Suddenly, the world is a drastically different place than it was ten minutes ago, and Courfeyrac doesn’t know what to do with this information.

“That’s great,” Courfeyrac chokes out after an eternity. “I wish you luck. I’m sure it’ll be wonderful.”

“I hope so, too.” Suraj is looking at him with that same piercing stare, and Courfeyrac has to look away. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, totally fine. I just remembered I have to get back to work. Good luck with your project thing!” Courfeyrac says as he’s already getting up to leave.

Courfeyrac walks back to the help desk and tries to convince himself that he isn’t running away. He doesn’t glance in the direction of the gazebo again for the rest of his shift. If he had looked back, he might’ve caught the disappointment on Suraj’s face.

-

True to his word, Suraj doesn’t return for the rest of the week, and Courfeyrac is resolutely not moping about it. He might be spending any time that he isn’t at class or work in his pajamas on the couch, but he’s not moping.

Marius asked about it as soon as they returned home that night, and Courfeyrac gave him a condensed version of the story. And Marius, the sweet darling that he is, made Courfeyrac a cup of tea and let him pick the movie. He also may have gone to Jehan, spilled the whole thing to them, and let his lovely friend to comfort him. He thinks he’s allowed that much.

He didn’t tell Enjolras though. Not because he wouldn’t want to tell Enjolras, it’s just that Enjolras has a very direct approach to life in general, and he’s not the most perceptive with emotions in the first place. He would likely rattle off a hundred more logical things Courfeyrac could’ve done. Courfeyrac doesn’t know if he’s ready for Enjolras’ specific brand of bluntness yet.

So it comes as a surprise when Enjolras storms into his apartment one day while Marius is out with Cosette and says before the door even swings shut behind him, “Stop moping, Courfeyrac.”

Courfeyrac squawks indignantly and nearly falls off the couch. “I am not moping!”

“You’re moping, and I’ve noticed because I’m not stupid,” Enjolras says. He has his arm crossed and his head held high like this is a challenge or a fight or a speech he has to give. “I won’t push about it. You know I’m not good with these things, but I’m going to assume that if you wanted to talk to me about it, you would.”

“Thanks,” Courfeyrac mumbles while biting his nails. He appreciates that Enjolras is trying. He does.

“Now, we never had that meeting together for the club last week, so we’re doing it today. I’ll give you five minutes to change out of your pajamas and come with me. If you don’t want to do it today, then tell me, but otherwise I am dragging you out of here.”

Enjolras still looks like he’s bracing for a fight, but there’s an underlying tenderness to his words. There often is with Enjolras. Courfeyrac laughs despite the awful week he’s had where nothing seemed to go right because Enjolras and his near obsessive need to get things done is a refreshing breath of air.

“Give me ten minutes to do my hair as well, and you have a deal.”

Courfeyrac is on his feet before he hears Enjolras’ response. He knows that Enjolras gets it. His friend might not know what he’s upset about, but he knows that Courfeyrac isn’t mad at the world. He loves people too much for that.

But only Courfeyrac knows the full story. He’s mad at himself for being a coward.

-

Courfeyrac fills the walk to the Musain with mindless chatter, and before he realizes it, they’re walking through the door and to a table by the wall.

“I’m just saying. If I were a squirrel, I would be better at—Oh my God.”

Courfeyrac never finishes his thought about squirrels because Suraj is sitting right there in front of him, and Enjolras is saying hello and calling him ‘Combeferre,’ and he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Courfeyrac, are you okay?” Enjolras asks when he realizes that Courfeyrac is still standing there like an idiot.

Combeferre looks up now, following Enjolras’ line of sight, and Courfeyrac can see the exact moment that recognition hits because those dark eyes widen behind glasses frames. Courfeyrac isn’t avoiding this time around, and he can see the hesitation and disappointment but most of all the hope. Courfeyrac tries to live his life without regrets, and he is so determined not to fuck it up this time that it’s a physical pull, dragging him into that chair.

“I’m fine, Enjolras,” he says, not taking his eyes off of Combeferre. “You’re Combeferre?”

“You’re Courfeyrac?” Combeferre echoes, and there’s a hint of humor in his voice.

He can’t help it. Courfeyrac laughs it back so hard his sides hurt, and he hears Combeferre join him and Enjolras’ confused protests. But he can’t bring himself to care.

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Courfeyrac finally stop laughing long enough to say, “You know I’ve always preferred my last name.”

“Then consider prénoms forgotten.” Combeferre extends a hand across the table with that lovely smile of his like they’re just meeting for the first time, like they haven’t been doing everything in the wrong order. “My name is Combeferre. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Call me Courfeyrac, and the pleasure’s all mine. I assure you.” Courfeyrac takes his hand, and he’s grinning so wide it hurts a little. “I’d also like to apologize for being an idiot in the past, and I would like it very much if you would agree to go on a date with me.”

Combeferre laughs, and it’s no less beautiful when they’re not surrounded by dying ivy and living moths. His eyes are filled with every single feeling and thought that Courfeyrac’s ever had towards him. It’s all so clear in retrospect that it makes Courfeyrac feel even more stupid.

This whole time Courfeyrac’s felt like he’s been in a race but always moving too slow or in the wrong direction. It felt helpless in a way because there was no end in sight.

But this—this meeting for a club that may never come to pass, this denouement more ironic than Courfeyrac can wrap his head around—this is the finish line.

Combeferre smiles bright and easy. “I would like that.”

-

When Courfeyrac talks about this meeting months later with Combeferre’s hand in his own and all their friends around them, new and old, Jehan bursts out laughing.

They grab Courfeyrac by the shoulders and yell, “That’s him! That’s the philosophy student I told you about!”

Courfeyrac and Combeferre turn to each other eyes wide and jaws slack because, honestly, this is getting ridiculous. Their friends clamor for the story which Jehan delivers with relish and a dramatic flair.

Courfeyrac is content to sit this one out, giggling to himself. Combeferre shakes his head next to him. “This whole thing was so weird.”

“Yeah, but it was still the best thing to ever happen to me,” Courfeyrac says, squeezing his hand.

“I love you.” Combeferre says and presses a kiss to his lips.

Courfeyrac grins into it. “I love you, too.”


End file.
